


Absolution

by myhamsterisademon



Category: Promessi Sposi - Alessandro Manzoni
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Priest Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-02 08:27:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20272945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myhamsterisademon/pseuds/myhamsterisademon
Summary: “Kneel,” the Cardinal orders and the man in front of him does, going on his knees with a surprisingly graceful slide, for someone so used to towering above everyone else, for someone who claims not having prayed in decades. But then, there is just as well the possibility that the man is skilled inanothersort of worship.





	Absolution

“Kneel,” the Cardinal orders and the man in front of him does, going on his knees with a surprisingly graceful slide, for someone so used to towering above everyone else, for someone who claims not having prayed in decades. But then, there is just as well the possibility that the man is skilled in _another_ sort of worship.   
  
There is a short silence, both men watching each other – and then Federigo speaks again. “Now would be the time you confess your sins.”  
  
“Which ones? The sins of the flesh, or the sins of the soul?” is the answer, and Federigo would almost think it impertinent, if it weren’t for the look of pure, unadulterated devotion and trust that he sees in his new-found brother’s eyes.   
  
“Both,” Federigo says, and the man’s cheeks redden in what he assumes is shame. “All of them. I want to hear everything.”  
  
“I cannot,” he croaks then, shaking his head, his voice tight, and his eyes glimmering in something that is decidedly not _just_ self-loathing.   
  
“You can. And you _will_,” Borromeo replies, sterner than he usually is. “Come, you needn’t be ashamed,” he adds then in a gentler tone. “What are you ashamed of, tell me?” he asks.   
  
“Of my thoughts,” the other man says readily, his cheeks red and voice strained – but he doesn’t lie, he doesn’t hide anything, and for that Federigo loves him even more. “Of the things I did. Of the things I want.”  
  
Borromeo stares at him for a while, silent again, aware of how _wrong_ the scene would seem to anybody else, but of how _right_ it feels for the two of them – of how right it is for the man to be on his knees, in the attitude of the penitent who awaits absolution or punishment, and ready to receive both with equal gratitude – of how right it is for Federigo to stand in front of him, hands on his hips, kind and forgiving and understanding, and ready to help his brother (whom, as God commanded, he loves like his own self) along the painful, humiliating journey of redemption.  
  
“And what is it that you want?” the Cardinal asks then, and _he_ raises his eyes, looking at him with such hopeful _longing_ and unhidden desire that Federigo instantly decides he shall give him anything, whatever he asks.  
  
“I want to know – I want to know _love_,” the man says, his voice breaking, tears filling his eyes and, in a desperate movement, he grabs Federigo by the hips and shoves his face in his lap, his mouth landing just on the Cardinal’s groin. There is another moment of silence, during which he merely breathes on him, warm and inviting – and then Federigo simply _cannot _take it anymore; the heat, the pressure against his now aching cock, it all gets _too much _and his hips buck against the man’s face, while his hand goes to his hair and his fingers card through it –  
  
and _he_ sighs in blissful relief, something that almost sounds like a happy sob escaping his lips. He lifts his head, looks at Borromeo – and the half-parted lips, the shining, _pleading_ eyes convince him that _this_ is exactly what both of them need.   
  
He nods, only once, and the man whines again, low and desperate (the sound sends a shock of arousal right through Federigo’s body) and his hands instantly go to the Cardinal’s robes, drawing them apart, pulling the red fabric with trembling but eager fingers – and all the while he is murmuring words, something that sounds like _thank you, thank you, thank you_ and this time Borromeo downright _moans_.  
  
“Wait,” he says, breathless, once his swollen cock has been drawn from his breeches, once his brother, now lover, already has put a hand on its base. “Repeat after me. _Forgive me, Father --_”  
  
The man gasps, sobs again and repeats with a strained voice, while his hand starts stroking Federigo’s cock, slow and gentle, nothing more than a simple caress – but it is that exactly; the odd delicateness and gentleness of those rough-looking hands that send sparks flying through his eyes.  
  
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” he says and then looks up again, and, when Federigo shakily nods once more, he ducks his head and takes his cock in his mouth, moaning around it, tongue already lapping – and Federigo cannot help himself, he immediately starts thrusting into that impossibly, deliciously warm mouth, he is gentle, slow and mindful, still holding onto his hair.   
  
Soon the room is filled by both their moans and, while his lover sucks onto him like his life depends on it, Federigo brings one hand to the man’s cheek, strangely fascinated by the outline that his cock forms against it. He traces it with one finger, whispering filthy encouragements under his breath, and the other man whimpers, moans and his throat relaxes, taking him even deeper.   
  
Federigo keeps fucking into him, blood coursing quicker than ever through his body – he starts to feel his release building at the pit of his stomach, tugging at him painfully, but he doesn’t stop, not for a single second because his lover is taking him _so well_, eager and pliant and _thankful_ and – for a moment his vision goes dark – one last shove and he is coming, legs shaking so hard he can barely stand.   
  
He drops to his knees, breathing in deeply and slowly. He feels an arm circling his waist, he feels a cheek, wet with tears, lying against his own and, again, he hears the words _thank you, thank you, thank you_ whispered in his ears.


End file.
